I opened my mouth to answer, but Griffin did it for me.
“Ms. Sage is the manager of the aquarium,” he replied. “She is responsible for this property. Just like you, she had questions to answer. She’s done her part. Now we’re moving on to you.”
“Uh-huh.” Titus appeared dubious as his eyes landed on Braden. “And him? He was here yesterday. Did you question him, too?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Griffin lied smoothly. “He doesn’t work on the island. He was visiting Ms. Sage. They’re a couple.”
“Oh.” If Titus was surprised by the information he didn’t show it. “How lovely for everyone involved. How can I help you, Detective Taylor? I’ve always had great respect for law enforcement. Yours is a thankless job. If an innocent soul was snuffed out, I want to help you find the perpetrator.”
His tone was condescending, but Griffin ignored it.
“I need an accounting of your movements last night,” Griffin ordered, pulling a notebook from his pocket. “What time did you arrive on the island?”
“I believe it was shortly after one,” Titus replied, his eyes returning to me. “I would think this information had already been supplied to you.”
“I need to hear it from you.” Griffin was blasé. “There are multiple sides to every story. Can you tell me your business on Belle Isle?”
“We have a permit.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“We’re a religious organization. We believe this island stands as a barrier between the living and the dead. There’s a door, somewhere around here, that allows the living and those we’ve lost to meet. We want access to that door.”
Griffin’s only reaction was a slight narrowing of the eyes. “And where do you believe this door is?”
“It’s under the aquarium.”
My shoulders almost hopped, but I held it together. Griffin’s reaction was much cagier, and I tried to follow his example. If I laughed or told Titus he was crazy I would look as if I had something to hide.
“I see.” Griffin flicked his eyes to me. “Is there a door where you can talk to the dead under the aquarium?”
“Not that I know of,” I lied smoothly. “I don’t spend much time in the basement. It’s all storage. I guess I could give it a good search.”
“Probably couldn’t hurt.” Griffin’s flat expression never wavered as he turned back to Titus. “What time did you leave the aquarium parking lot?”
“Six o’clock.” Titus’s expression had darkened during our talk of the death door. It was obvious he recognized his beliefs were being dismissed, but politely, so he couldn’t melt down without looking like a fool. “Our permit allows us to be on the aquarium property during normal business hours. After that, we have to retreat to the park.”
“And you have a permit to camp here?” Griffin asked.
“We do.”
“I’ll need to see that before I leave.” Griffin was all business as he jotted notes. “How many people are with your group?”
“Sixty-two, but I expect that number to grow.”
“How many of those people are local?”
“What does that matter?” For the first time, Titus allowed his frustration to show. “I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”
“The girl who died was local,” Griffin replied simply. “She was strangled, which tends to suggest a personal relationship. Of course, it could also mean our killer didn’t have a weapon handy and wanted to keep things quiet. We’ll start with personal connections.”
“I see.” Titus was silent for a beat and then shook his head. “I’m not sure. I believe there are a handful of locals here, but most of us are from the west side of the state. I can put together a list if that helps.”
“That would be great.”
The camp was starting to stir as the marchers poked their heads out of tents. I didn’t yet recognize any of the faces, and that left me feeling edgy. “Is Andrea here?” I asked, drawing Titus’s attention.
“I don’t believe I know anyone by that name,” Titus replied blankly. “There’s no one here named Andrea.”
His response bothered me. “She’s a teenager, here with her parents. She said her last name was Porter.”
“The name doesn’t ring any bells. I’m sorry.”
I wanted to push him further, but Griffin opted to regain control of the conversation.
“Did you hear anything last night?” he asked.
“Like what?” Titus shot back. “Are you suggesting that we knew that poor girl was being murdered and did nothing?”
“I’m suggesting you might’ve seen a group of people hanging around out here — it does tend to happen when the weather gets warmer — and I would like a description of anyone you saw. Tracking down street kids isn’t easy and I need all the help I can get.”
Titus was momentarily mollified. “That makes sense.” He regrouped quickly. “It was quiet for the most part. We did see a group of kids on the other side of the park shortly before bed. They seemed surprised to find us here.
“One of them, a young man who looked to be in his mid-twenties or so, asked us a few questions,” he continued. “The others with him seemed to defer to him. They called him Knight, which I found interesting given our location. This is hardly a castle — and hardly a place where gamers would hang out. That’s really all I can tell you.”
“Knight?” Griffin’s eyebrows quirked.
Titus nodded. “Does that name mean something?”
“As a matter of fact, it does.” Griffin turned grim as he looked between Braden and me. He looked conflicted. “Thank you for your time. I might be back in a few hours to ask your followers more questions. For now, I appreciate what you’ve given me.”
“Of course.” Titus nodded curtly. “Just for the record, these people don’t follow me. They follow the path of death because they want to eradicate it.”
Griffin forced a smile. “Whatever floats your boat.”
Seven
“You know something.”
It was a statement, not a question, but Braden waited until we were far enough from the parking lot that eavesdroppers weren’t a risk.
“I might know something,” Griffin countered.
“You recognize the name,” I surmised. “Knight. I’m guessing that’s not a given name.”
“It’s a street name,” Griffin confirmed. “The guy in question ... well ... he’s been around for a few years. He hangs in the Cass Corridor.”
Something sparked in the back of my memory. “Isn’t that where the circus folks were hanging?” Several weeks earlier, members of the Mystic Caravan Circus arrived in the city. They were more than they appeared to be, serving as monster hunters of sorts. One of them, Poet, had ties to the Detroit streets. She helped a few at-risk kids during her stay and eradicated a dastardly threat. I hadn’t much thought about the other kids living in that area since, and the realization filled me with shame.
“Mostly,” Griffin said. “This Knight kid didn’t have anything to do with what was happening then. In fact, I’m fairly certain he took a step back during that time because of the increased law enforcement presence. But he’s resurfaced.”
“What aren’t you telling us?” Braden pressed.
“The word is he has a hand in the drug trade in that area,” Griffin replied. “We’ve never been able to pin anything on him, but I have no doubt he’s been involved in more than a few illegal activities.”
“Is he dangerous?” I asked. “If so, you should take us with you to question him.”
Griffin hesitated. It was obvious he didn’t like the idea. Ultimately, he relented. “You can come with me, but there are some ground rules. I’m not allowing this because I think I’ll need backup. It’s more that I don’t want you heading down there looking for your own answers.”
“And what makes you think I would do that?”
Braden snorted and shook his head. “He’s not an idiot. He thinks by tak
ing us with him there’s a chance you’ll have all your questions answered and refrain from making a second visit. I’m not that optimistic, but I’m willing to take a chance and hope that he’s right.”
“That’s a rough area, Izzy,” Griffin supplied. “You’ll see when we get down there. It’s not like Belle Isle.”
He acted as if I’d never borne witness to the misery perpetrated by a hard life on the streets. “You do realize I grew up in New Orleans, right?” I challenged. “Detroit is a cakewalk compared to what I’ve seen down south.”
“Maybe,” Griffin hedged. “I would never suggest you haven’t seen your fair share of crime. I can’t make a judgment, and it ultimately doesn’t matter. The thing is, it’s different. My understanding is that the police presence in New Orleans is overwhelming. We don’t have as many troops in Detroit. That allows some of these players to get a firm foothold, and they’re not afraid to go toe to toe with us. You have to watch your back.”
“I’ll be watching her back,” Braden reassured him. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”
“You need to be careful too. Things can get out of hand quickly down there.”
I rolled my eyes at the way they talked to one another. “In case you two have forgotten, I’m the one with the magic here,” I reminded them. “If it comes down to a fight, I’ll be protecting the two of you.”
Griffin looked more amused by the statement than Braden.
“We’re going to work as a unit,” Braden stressed.
“And I’m in charge,” Griffin added. “These kids have seen me before. They might not be afraid of me, but they’re aware that I’m a straight shooter. I try to keep things on the level with them for a reason. Still, we need to be careful — that means no flying off the handle.”
The statement was directed at me. “Um, when do I ever fly off the handle?”
“I’ve seen that magical mask thing you’ve got going.”
The bruja mask. It came out only when I was engaged in a magical battle of epic proportions. It was enough to strike terror in the hearts of my enemies — at least most of them — but it was doubtful I would have to whip it out when dealing with street kids.
“You might be surprised what I’m capable of,” I said. “Let’s just see what these kids have to say. There might be no reason to worry.”
Griffin looked resigned. “That would be a nice change of pace.”
GRIFFIN DROVE BECAUSE HE SAID IT WASN’T safe for Braden to leave his expensive car unattended in the neighborhood we were visiting. At first, I thought he was being an alarmist. Glancing around the area, though, I understood his concern.
“There’s nothing here,” I noted, slowly spinning to take in the wall of empty buildings. “This is supposed to be a busy downtown area. How can there be no businesses?”
Griffin hesitated before plowing forward. “Detroit is different than most cities. Take New Orleans, for example. I’m no expert, but there’s a huge tourism draw because of Bourbon Street, the proximity to the water, the temperature, and the voodoo culture. Detroit has none of those things going for it.”
“It has water,” I argued.
“True, but the Detroit River is famous because bodies somehow manage to get lost in it. The lakes have better access north of us. There aren’t many people with expensive boats in the water down here.”
The Grimlocks lived in one of the ritziest neighborhoods in the state, yet they were only a few miles from the gritty underbelly of the city. It might as well have been a separate continent, the lifestyles were so different.
“Where are we going?” Braden asked, moving to my side and linking his fingers with mine. It was obvious he wanted to keep me close.
“That building.” Griffin inclined his head. “It used to be a laundromat. Now it’s Knight’s headquarters.”
“Don’t the building owners care?” I asked. I felt out of my depth in the neighborhood — something I would never admit — but I was eager to absorb as much knowledge as possible. “It seems they would at least try to oust these folks. They’re never going to sell the building if there are squatters.”
Griffin looked amused. “Izzy, they’re never going to sell the building regardless. The owners have long since given up any stake in the business. Eventually, the city will tear it down. Right now it’s home to every kind of rat imaginable.”
“I keep hearing that parts of Detroit are being revitalized,” I argued. “This can’t possibly be their idea of revitalization.”
“Not even close,” Griffin agreed. “There’s an ongoing effort to rebuild the city, but it hasn’t reached here. The areas around the sports stadiums and casinos get most of the attention. The buildings down there are being gutted and turned into hipster lofts. This area won’t be touched for at least another five years. They have to work their way out in a sensible fashion from where they’ve started.”
“Do you think they’ll ever get here?”
Griffin shrugged. “Detroit was built on the back of the automobile industry. Now that most of the plants have been relocated overseas for cheaper labor, it’s unlikely that all of this will come back.”
“That’s sad,” I lamented, shifting my eyes to Braden and finding him smiling as he watched me. “What?” I suddenly felt self-conscious.
“Nothing,” he reassured me, leaning in to press a quick kiss to my cheek. “You have a big heart. You’re a total badass, don’t get me wrong, but you have a huge heart. It’s sweet.”
“Well, I don’t plan to be sweet today.” I squared my shoulders and regarded the former laundromat. “Let’s do this.”
“Let me do the talking,” Griffin reminded us. “If I need your help, I’ll tell you.”
I couldn’t make that promise, but I nodded all the same. There was no reason to buy trouble before it was necessary.
Two armed guards watched the front door of the laundromat and Griffin addressed them before requesting an audience with Knight. We waited five minutes before we were allowed inside the building. The man sitting behind what I assumed used to be a table of some sort — it was warped and barely recognizable now — wasn’t what I expected. He looked barely old enough to be out of high school. There was something almost fragile about the high planes of his cheeks. The dark look in his eyes promised mayhem if we stepped out of line, though, and I swallowed hard as Griffin began.
“I won’t take much of your time,” he started.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of Knight, which is why the magical shimmer that moved over him caught my attention. I recognized what he was right away — and was flabbergasted. “That’s not Knight,” I announced.
The young man jerked his head in my direction. “Excuse me?” His voice was higher than I expected.
“You’re not Knight,” I repeated. I sensed power, true magic, but it wasn’t enough to frighten me. Besides, I was more curious than anything else. “You’re a woman.” My mind was busy. “You’re a witch.”
The door behind us slammed shut without anybody touching it and the magic shimmered a moment again before the glamour completely faded. There, sitting at the table — a good six inches shorter than the man she was pretending to be — was a pink-haired woman. She, too, looked barely out of her teens. She had attitude in spades.
“How did you know?” she snapped, her temper flaring.
Amusement rolled through me at her reaction. She was spunky, I had to give her that. The bubblegum pink hair belonged on a soft girl, one who was protected and went to sleep surrounded by tiaras and stuffed animals every night. This one was the exact opposite, yet somehow the color fit her.
“How did you know that?” Griffin asked, his eyes never leaving the young woman. “I’ve seen you before. I ... can’t remember where.”
“Well, if you can’t remember I’m not going to tell you.” The girl leaned back in her chair and propped her feet on the desk, giving off an aura of unconcern. I knew better. “You guys should probably go.”
“We can�
��t,” I countered, taking over the conversation without invitation from Griffin. He might’ve known street kids better, but I recognize magic. This girl was powerful but completely untrained. She could become dangerous — or something altogether marvelous. “What’s your name?”
“What’s your name?” the girl fired back.
“Izzy Sage.”
She snorted. “That’s a weird name.”
“What’s your name?” I repeated.
Perhaps to buy herself time as she debated the intelligence associated with outing herself, the girl shifted in her chair and pursed her lips. “What kind of witch are you?”
She recognized I was a witch. That was intriguing, and only proved that she could be dangerous if I didn’t make an effort to wrangle her. “Bruja,” I replied. As a display of power, I ignited the skull mask and watched as the color drained from her face. “I trained in New Orleans.”
Instead of being afraid, the girl looked positively giddy. “Oh, wow! That is way cool. How did you do that?”
“It’s part of my magic,” I replied. “Every witch has certain powers. Well, every born witch. Those who try to make themselves into witches have limited results at best.”
“Girl, tell me about it.” The pink-haired firecracker waved her hand. “There’s nothing worse than a wannabe.”
I cracked a smile but covered quickly. “Don’t call me ‘girl.’”
“Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch. I call everyone ‘girl.’ Heck, I call some males that. I can’t help myself.”
“It’s disrespectful.” I refused to back down on this front. It was one of my pet peeves. “I’m not a girl. I’m a woman. I have a name. If you don’t want to use it, pick a different word. ‘Girl’ is disrespectful, something middle-schoolers toss around to seem older than they are.”
Her eyes narrowed. I felt her trying to probe my mind with her magic, but I kept the door firmly closed. She wasn’t trained enough to get past my barriers. That didn’t mean she couldn’t get there eventually.
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